by Tara Grayce
That glare held a promise. Prince Rharreth and Melantha would be punished first, but Farrendel would feel every bit of their pain, and then some.
He swallowed and stared at the ceiling. If King Charvod’s rage was any indication, it would be surprising if he survived the night.
MELANTHA CLAWED her way through the blackness and waves of pain. For several long moments, it took all her will to simply breathe. With each inhalation, another spike of pain shivered down her back.
Hay prickled against her cheek. She peeled her eyes open and blinked several times, trying to get her mind to function past the pain.
She lay on the pile of straw against the back wall of her cell. Both blankets were missing, and a cool draft brushed against the skin of her back.
Her back. She bit her lip at the pain and the memories. Shackles pinning her to the wall. King Charvod wielding the whip laced with troll magic.
A whip. She had not realized such instruments of torture were still employed in these modern times. Surely such things had been banished to history.
But she should have known King Charvod would still keep something like that, just in case.
He had used it not just on her, but on his own brother as well. She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of several trolls pinning Prince Rharreth to the wall as he bore his brother’s punishment.
Only when Prince Rharreth had been wounded and weak had King Charvod turned the whip on her. King Charvod had still had to order Prince Rharreth restrained, then eventually knocked unconscious to prevent him from stopping her punishment.
She shifted, and stone rattled. Frowning, she tilted her head and peered at her hands. Stone shackles bound her wrists. Cold stone rested against her ankles. It might not be as restricting as Farrendel’s bonds, but she was bound more than she had been.
Gathering her strength, she pushed onto her elbows. Tears sprang to her eyes at the pain flashing through the raw welts and bleeding slices on her back.
With all this stone around her, would she be able to heal herself? The stone shackle had not impeded her ability to heal Farrendel.
It took several more moments of effort to push herself all the way to sitting. She leaned a shoulder against the wall, her head spinning, blackness bursting in front of her eyes. She forced herself to breathe deeply, steadily, until some of the dizziness faded.
Wincing, she rested her right hand on her left arm and reached for her magic. At first, she could only grasp a sliver of it. She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating.
It was not the stone making it difficult but her pain. Gritting her teeth, she dug deeper and dredged up her magic, sliding it through her skin and into her back.
The pain faded, though the weakness remained. Loss of blood, most likely. And she had poured a great deal of her magic into Farrendel before she had been dragged away.
Was Farrendel all right? What had King Charvod done to him while she had been unconscious?
Melantha staggered to her feet and tottered toward her door. With her arms and feet shackled, she could no longer reach the window in the door. She eased to the side, trying to see down the corridor.
What if King Charvod was still there? She would not wish to call out to Farrendel if anyone would overhear.
No, the corridor was too quiet. If King Charvod was still there, there would be cries of pain.
“Farrendel? Can you hear me? Are you all right?” She waited, holding her breath to hear any faint reply.
Nothing.
What if Farrendel was dead? It would have been wiser for King Charvod to kill him—to kill both of them—long before now. Would King Charvod risk Farrendel regaining his magic again and keep him alive to enact his original plan to kill Farrendel in front of Weylind?
“Farrendel?” She called louder this time, unable to erase the edge of panic straining through her voice. She had reminded him not to fight. To be patient and wait for the right moment. What if that had been the right moment? Maybe not the right moment, but the only chance they had?
He could not be dead. If he died now, it would be her fault. All her fault.
“Farrendel!” Her fists clenched as she strained against the shackles, heat building in her chest. If King Charvod had killed Farrendel, then she might just find out what happened to an elf healer who violated her oath and used her magic to kill. At least she could take King Charvod down with her.
“Melantha?” His voice was so faint Melantha had to turn her ear toward the window to hear it. “Are you all right?”
He sounded like he was barely breathing, yet he was asking if she was all right? “I am fine.” She hesitated. For some reason, she did not want to tell him that she had simply healed herself and the pain was already gone. Not when she did not have a way to heal him and take away the pain he was in. “And you? Are you all right?”
He was not. She could hear that much in his voice. But she had to ask, regardless.
“Well enough.”
His answer would have been convincing, if his words had not broken with a moan.
“I am sorry. I should have moved faster. I should have...” She would have leaned her head against the bars of the window, but she could not reach. What could she have done? There had not been time to get from Farrendel’s cell to her own cell before they had been discovered. Perhaps she never should have convinced Prince Rharreth to allow her to stay with Farrendel, but she could not make herself regret the past few days.
“Not your fault.” Farrendel sounded barely conscious. What had they done to him while she had been drifting on that haze of pain?
Still shaky on her feet, she sank to the floor at the edge of the reach of her chains. She would rather have curled up on the hay, but she would not be able to hear Farrendel from there. “If King Charvod is this afraid, then surely it will not be long until Weylind is here.”
Farrendel did not reply. Had he passed out again? How badly was he hurt?
Melantha clenched her fists, breathing past the rising heat in her chest. If only she could blast this cell door off its hinges and heal Farrendel. Then she would march out of here, track down King Charvod, and...
And do what? It was not like she was a warrior. She would probably die as well if she used her magic to kill instead of heal.
It might be worth it.
ESSIE WRAPPED a bandage around the arm of a wounded elf. It was just a shallow gash, and the elf would probably be back in the fight the next day, once the balm Illyna had helped make healed the injury.
Tying off the bandage, Essie gave the elf a smile. “There you are.”
He gave her a return smile. “Linshi, Amirah.”
She glanced around, the setting sun casting shadows from the rows of shelters grown on the rocky ground. Over the past two days, the constant blizzards and ice had dissipated, leaving clear skies for the first time since they had invaded Kostaria.
No more wounded waited for tending. The day’s fighting had been light. Perhaps too light? The combined army was approaching Gror Grar. Shouldn’t the fighting be getting harder, not easier?
“Essie.”
She turned to find Averett striding toward her, though with a hitch in his step. She hurried to him. “Are you hurt? Why are you limping?”
“I’m fine. Just a scratch on my calf.” Averett’s smile was framed with tired lines.
It was more than that. Now that she was closer, she spotted the blood, both brown and dried, red and glistening. “You should let me tend it.”
“I’m fine. Really.” Despite his words, Averett sank onto the rock where the elf warrior had been sitting a moment before. “I sent Edmund with a few elven scouts. He probably won’t be back until late. They are hoping to scout most of the way to Gror Grar and back.”
“And Julien?” Essie eased off Averett’s boot and rolled down his sock, wrinkling her nose at the stench of his foot. A long gash cut through his calf muscle. It would need stitches by one of the physicians, but Essie could at least wash it and bandage
it to tide Averett over until he could pause long enough to get it tended.
“Helping Weylind set up the shelter for tonight.” Averett winced as she took a rag and dabbed the injury.
Ever since the ambush on the rear lines, Jalissa and Essie had been bunking with Weylind and Essie’s brothers, curtaining off a corner to give themselves some privacy. Averett and Weylind weren’t happy about having Essie and Jalissa closer to the fighting, but nowhere in the encampment was truly safe.
“Are the trolls still falling back? We gained a lot of ground today.” Essie dabbed at the wound, making sure she got all the dirt out. She wasn’t sure when she had lost any squeamishness over blood and sliced muscle, but it no longer bothered her.
“Yes. I think the trolls left fighting us are simply making a defensive retreat, delaying us while the rest of them retreat to Gror Grar and rally those defenses.” Averett rubbed a hand over his face. “While I’m glad it means we’ll arrive at Gror Grar all the sooner, I am concerned what we will find when we get there. Is Farrendel...”
“Still alive. But...” Essie resisted the urge to rub at the cold feeling of the heart bond in her chest. For the past two days, he had been nearly constantly blocking her. The only time he didn’t block her was when he was sleeping or unconscious. “Still not good. I think we need to hurry.”
She wasn’t sure what had happened. After a week of being nearly relaxed and pain free, Farrendel had suddenly gone back to the torture and pain of those first few days before Melantha had begun helping him. Had Melantha been killed? Or had she betrayed Farrendel again, and that was why he was so listless and pained?
But it had started the day after Farrendel had used his magic through Essie. Had the trolls figured out that was Farrendel’s magic that night?
With Farrendel blocking her, she couldn’t attempt to ask him.
“We’re only a day from Gror Grar.” Averett patted her shoulder. “He only needs to hold out a little longer.”
Her hands shook as she wrapped a bandage around Averett’s leg. As she finished, she pasted on a smile and stood. “You can put your boot back on. I’ll pass out if I’m subjected to the stench of your sock much longer.”
“Ah. Yes. Bathing and washing socks hasn’t been on the top of our list for the past two weeks.” Averett sniffed at his armpit. “You might want to avoid hugs as well.”
As she didn’t smell much better than he did, she might risk it, if Farrendel took a turn for the worse.
The cold breeze swirling into the shelter and the low murmur of voices woke Essie from a light doze. She had struggled to sleep, knowing Edmund was out there scouting and Farrendel was drifting in and out of consciousness.
As Jalissa stirred next to her, Essie eased out of her bedroll and slipped through the curtain separating their section of the shelter from the rest.
An elven lamp, glowing with a white blue light instead of the yellow of a flame, sat in the center of the shelter. Essie’s brothers gathered around a piece of paper along with Weylind. Edmund was pointing at something, but he glanced up as Essie wedged into the circle between Averett and Julien.
Essie glanced over the paper. A rough sketch of the terrain around Gror Grar? “I’m glad you arrived back all right.”
“No trouble. It looks like even more of the trolls have retreated into Gror Grar. We’ll have little resistance on the final march tomorrow.” Edmund shook his head and bent over the paper again. “It will be Gror Grar itself that will be difficult. Its mountain is steep and made up of shale on many of the sides. We will have no cover on the approach, even if we try to take the army up the sides. A frontal assault across the bridge would be even worse.”
“We will consult with the generals tomorrow. The final decision on tactics will be theirs, anyway.” Averett leaned his elbows on his knees, head bent. “But if anyone has any ideas, I’m sure they would love to hear them.”
Essie bit her lip. Should she mention this? “Up until a few days ago, I know Farrendel was planning something. I think he meant it to coincide with our efforts. There’s no other reason he would wait to put it—whatever it is—into action. We might find we have help on the inside of Gror Grar.”
Weylind bent his head, his hair hiding his face. “Farrendel was unable to help last time he was rescued. I do not think we should count on his aid.”
“He is stronger this time.” Essie had to believe that. She wasn’t sure she could bear it if she believed Farrendel had given up.
On the train, he had been determined to fight to the death rather than face torture. But something must have changed. Either he had been captured even while trying to fight to the death or he had surrendered, deciding to survive and live for her. Surely, if he had made that choice once, he would do it again. He would survive. He would push through this. And he would be ready to fight back when the time came.
ESSIE SAT ON A rock outside of the command tent, only half listening to the murmur of voices behind her. All around, the Escarlish-Tarenhieli army set up camp and fortifications.
The fortress of Gror Grar loomed on the mountain before them, the dark granite walls, limned with snow, blending in with the gray of the surrounding mountain.
The fortress cut into the mountain itself with a bridge spanning the gorge and connecting it to the plateau. The peak of the mountain formed the tallest tower of the fortress while the outer walls rose from the steep cliffs. No army could approach except by the bridge, where they would be mercilessly cut down by the defenders.
Farrendel was in that fortress. She could feel it.
But how to get to him? Gror Grar was just as intimidating as the elves had said it would be.
Edmund appeared next to her. “You look pensive.”
“Back from scouting already?” Essie held her breath. She hardly dared hope he’d found something.
“I think I have a way in.” Edmund held out an arm. “I might as well tell it only once.”
Essie hopped to her feet and fell into step with Edmund. As they entered the tent, the generals gathered around the table glanced up. Weylind and Averett stood side by side on the far side of the table, and, next to them, stood...Lance.
Lance Marion, an inventor specializing in using magic to power machines, cradled a magical power cell to his chest in a sling, as if he was carrying around a baby instead of a piece of machinery.
No, not just any power cell. Essie spotted the faint blue light and the crackle to the power as she stepped closer. This was the one Lance and Farrendel had worked on that afternoon in Aldon where they had successfully stored some of Farrendel’s magic.
As his gaze flicked to her, Lance smiled and gave her a nod. She had seen him around the camp, helping fix the steam vehicles and various weapons, but she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him. Everyone had been too busy surviving.
Edmund strode to the table and pointed at the sketch of Gror Grar laid out on the table. A much better sketch than the one last night. “I found the back way in.”
“The back door?” Essie wedged herself next to Edmund. She found Julien on her other side.
“Of course. Every fortress has a back way out. No one wants to be stuck in a dead-end corner, not even if that corner is a supposedly impenetrable fortress.” Edmund pointed toward a spot on the sketch that seemed to indicate the far side of the fortress opposite of the bridge. “As I suspected, they must have been sending out noncombatants to flee deeper into Kostaria in preparation for our arrival. A valid strategy, and they did their best to erase the trail. But they still left enough evidence in the side of the mountain that I could find the entrance.”
Really? Essie studied Edmund. She had known Edmund was good at what he did, but where had he gotten that confident experience in this kind of thing? Did she really want to know? Apparently, those were the stories her brothers didn’t tell her. Possibly out of their instincts to protect their little sister. But it might also be because Edmund’s previous missions were national secrets.
“Excelle
nt.” Averett nodded, crossing his arms.
“Yes and no.” Edmund jabbed a finger over his shoulder in the direction of Gror Grar. “The entrance is hidden about a hundred feet up the side of a sheer cliff. I suspect that, when they wish to escape that way, they use their magic to form stairs in the cliff side. There was a section of the cliff that was too unnaturally smooth, as if molded by magic. They neglected to replicate the craggy edges of the natural cliffside when they erased their stairs.”
One of the Escarlish generals tapped his chin. “It might be possible for a small party to scale that cliff. It would be difficult, but not impossible.”
“Exactly.” Edmund glanced to Essie. “If a small group of us sneak into Gror Grar during the night, the rest of the army could attack at dawn to provide a distraction. If Farrendel is in bad shape, we will sneak out the back way again, thus avoiding any trap the troll king will have planned for whoever attempts to rescue Farrendel. But if Farrendel thinks he can use enough of his magic to assist us, then we’ll go out the front, attacking the trolls from inside their own fortress.”
Lance patted the power cell with Farrendel’s magic. “And the rest of us will have blown the gates off the fortress by then.”
Essie raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s what all of you were discussing before we came in?”
“Oh, yes.” Lance patted the power cell again. “We managed to contain Farrendel’s magic, but it is still highly unstable. Pack enough gunpowder around it and light a fuse, and this will explode with enough force to take down half of Gror Grar’s walls, no matter what kind of magical reinforcement the trolls have put on them.”
A few of the Escarlish generals grinned. The elves didn’t deign to do something as undignified, but a few of them indulged in twitching smiles.
“Don’t use all the gunpowder. I couldn’t get a good look at it from the ground, but I think the trolls blocked off their escape tunnel with stone.” Edmund shrugged, as if a tunnel sealed with stone wasn’t a big deal. “It won’t be thick, since they will want to be able to open it again in a hurry if needed. It will be a simple drilling and blasting operation, though we’ll want to wait until the bombardment of the main gate starts before we blow the door.”